


The Agony, The Ecstasy

by writingramblr



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Consensual Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Smut, Violence, Wishful Thinking, get rekt ramsay, justice for sansa stark, no happy ending, smitten petyr, sweet revenge for sansa stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Sansa and Theon have escaped the Bolton's, but they run into Petyr before they're truly safely away. Things go better than expected.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agony, The Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> don't get me wrong i still heavily ship petyr/sansa aka creepyship but im salty about him leaving her to ramsay's filthy disgusting hands, (now as someone with that kind of trauma in my past, it hits waaay harder.)
> 
> so this is me giving petyr what he wants, then sansa what she needs.
> 
> <3

The snow is cold underfoot, soaking into her boots, and the crunch of Theon’s stumbling walk behind her isn’t comforting, it’s disturbing.

Sure they both escaped, but he still feels like a burden.

She wants to just run sometimes, but he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

There’s a gnawing feeling of betrayal in her chest, and she wonders why she trusted Petyr…ever, in the first place. So he pretended to care for her, until he got what he wanted. Then he left her behind, left her at Bolton’s mercy.

Her fists clench as she imagines seeing him again.

She’s going to hit him as hard as she can, until the white snow is turning red from his blood.

*

That isn’t how it goes.

Not how she planned.

Petyr is on his way back to the Bolton estate, perhaps three miles out when he sees two pairs of haphazard footsteps.

“Stop. I need to walk around a moment. My back is beginning to hurt.”

The driver doesn’t care.

He eventually waves them on.

He’ll catch up.

The bite of the air is enough to keep him alert, and it’s not until he’s a few feet away from the pair that he realizes who they are.

Sansa and the pathetic boy Bolton’s son had been torturing.

“Alayne…”

He breathes.

Still conscious he can’t say her real name.

Her eyes light up, and then turn dark.

The green is overshadowed by the black of her pupils.

Her cheeks are gaunt and her lips twitch.

Blinking swiftly, he looks at her, really looks at her with something more than the adoring eyes of a starving man escaping the desert.

She’s been hurt.

Beaten.

She’s on the run.

Not out for a walk with Bolton’s pet.

“You… you left me to die. I’m going _to kill you_!”

She’s running at him now, her hood’s flown off, and crimson hair spills out from under the blue silk.  
She’s still so beautiful as she wishes him death.

But he’s stronger than her.

His wrists lock on hers and she's crying as she tries to hit him, to no avail.

“How could you? You lied to me. You said I would be _safe_. He hurt me. He…did things…”

She’s shaking now, collapsing against him, falling into his arms as he slowly drops to the ground, feeling the cold seeping into his bones.

He strokes the back of her head, fingers weaving into her hair, and her sobs shake through him.

_What had he done?_

_***_

The anger fades, drains from her the instant she sees his face.

He couldn’t have known.

He didn’t.

Theon stays back, bless him.

He’s probably scared that Baelish is going to make him go back.

He doesn’t know that Petyr belongs to Sansa. She owns his soul.

This is proof enough.

The whispers of ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry’ tell her everything.

Strength is trickling back into her body, and it’s not the flame of fury and righteous anger. It’s something else.

The itch.

Still bloodthirsty, but also desperate for something else.

Contact.

His hand is in her hair and she’s buried against his chest.

She feels the fluttering of his heartbeat.

“Petyr…please…”

She gasps.

His other hand comes up to cup her cheek, pulling her to face him, and she blinks, letting twin tears fall, icy paths cutting over her cheeks.

Until his warm thumbs brush them away and he leans in.

He places a kiss on her forehead, then on each cheek, before gently brushing his lips across hers.

That sets her afire like nothing has in so many weeks.

She clings to him as he brings her back to her feet, and she notes how she’s just slightly taller.

That feeds her feeling of power like nothing else.

She doesn’t need a knife in her hand to feel like she could end his life in a second.

***

His sweet precious snow maid is gone. Left in the crater that was her soul is something else entirely. Like a phoenix risen from the flames, so is Alayne Stone.

He tells her to stay there while he retrieves the carriage…and he’s only gone what feels like a handful of seconds, his heart pounding like thunder in his ears the entire time he feeds a lie to the Bolton’s gatekeeper as to why he must return another time.

They’re probably going to send armed guards after him in a day, but he doesn’t care.

He scoops up Alayne and tells the ghost of a boy to sit in the back with the servants.

He needs time with _her._

“What did he do? Tell me.”

He needs to prepare, needs to know what sort of revenge to plan for them. Although he has a pretty good idea, if the way she reacted to seeing him is any indication.

They lied to his face, and he actually bought it.

He could smack himself for being so naive.

She still shakes as she tells him, and with every word, he grows more and more angry. At himself, at Roose, at the smug little bastard Ramsay, and his mind was made up before she even finished.

 

“Do not worry my sweet. Before the sun rises tomorrow, they will have drawn their last breath.”

He felt her take a slow inhale of her own and he hoped she was relaxing.

They stopped after a couple dozen miles of travelling and Petyr didn’t even look at the boy before tossing a coin to his driver and the other servants, who were really guards on his payroll.

Only one needed to be sent back to the Bolton’s.

 

They weren’t worthy of poison. They needed to feel pain before they died.

Fire would work.

But first, they were drugged, so they were immobile, as their castle burned down all around them.

 

Petyr was almost disappointed he wouldn’t be able to watch, but he had better things to do. Namely, bring Sansa back to life.

“Promise you’ll stay with me?”

She asks him, her voice small and her blue eyes wide, and he cannot deny her a single thing.

He feels blessed that she even lets him touch her after what she’s been through.

“Of course sweetling.”

She bathes five feet from him and he can’t tear his eyes from her body, until he spots the bruises still healing, shades of yellow and purple and green and he thinks he might be sick.

That’s just what he can see. There’s infinite scars and bruises that he’ll never be witness to.

Inside her, between her legs, underneath her skin.

Places he cannot touch her to heal her.

But gods he wishes he could.

She wraps her hair up so she won’t catch any sickness from the cold wetness of it, and he wants nothing more than to pull her close and never let her go.

He’s not sure she’ll want to be nearby him, much less sleep in the same bed.

He can understand, and he’s prepared to take the floor when she shakes her head, and takes his hand.

Her sweet delicate hands are pushing at his shoulders, nudging him back to the bed, and he obeys. She begins to undress him and he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or dying.

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

His voice sounds shaky.

Her eyes drift down his body, taking in his own years old scars and she nods.

“I want to feel something nice. I know you care for me. I know you regret leaving me there. Show me.”

“I’ll worship every inch of you tonight.”

He assures her, and she licks her lips and he’s half hard in a split second.

Kissing her is easy, it’s when his hands are on her skin and she flinches when his fingers accidentally brush a healing mark, that’s when he feels a flush of anger again.

But its mingling with arousal and then she’s climbing atop him, rutting her sweet hips over his throbbing cock.

“Oh Petyr…”

She sighs his name, and he decides to forgive himself just for a moment.

He dares to touch her _there_ and feels her warm wetness, and that’s when he knows, she wants him. She wants this.

It is okay.

So he grips her tighter and pulls her in.

***

It doesn’t hurt much, really.

Petyr is shockingly gentle, and when he slides inside of her, she gasps in delight. Sansa had no idea it could feel so good. There’s no pain, how could there be? She’s had worse, bigger and rougher elsewhere.

Petyr is covered in silvery scars, and it’s surprising, she knows he’s fought and been in battles, as a young man, but she didn’t expect that.

Shame she’s going to have to give him a new one.

When he comes, it’s with a moan that sounds like her real name.

She kisses him again, one last time, sweetly and slow, before she reaches for the knife.

She saw it tucked into his belt, and she’s almost sorry, but when it slides into his chest, right between his ribs, the warm rush of blood is thrilling, maddeningly satisfying.

Nearly twice as nice as her first orgasm was.

It’s the look of hurt and sadness on his face that brings her back to the present.

She’s crying before she can stop herself.

But it had to be done.

She takes another bath, and it’s only a few moments after that she leaves, without looking back.

***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> also this is inspired heavily by the amazeballs 'gasoline vs savages' halsey and marina and the diamonds mashup and the snow white and the huntsman movie where the beautiful queen kills the enamored king.
> 
>  
> 
> because fuck yeah thats why


End file.
